May 19 marks 25 years since Daryl Braithwaite’s classic The Horses cracked the number 1 in the charts, and hour hearts.

 

It seems a fitting time to close the chapter on my three-part mega series epic The Daryl.

 

It was October when I first spoke the man. It was November when I saw him perform this audio gift to the world. And my last chapter in this gripping saga was published (and by published, I mean “made public via a free web platform” and not printed on actual paper or under any legitimate banner) in April. I realise this has been a drawn out progression, but it has taken me quite a lot to process what I experienced.

 

My Christian ancestors were right to think The Lord would rise again. But maybe they were wrong in thinking The Son of God would return to the earth as a physical human being. Maybe, just maybe, He came back to earth not as blood and bone, but through song. Perhaps this time the Big Boppa up Toppa came back to earth not through the vaginal canal of maiden who wears a lot of blue, but through the vocal chords of a humble man who also wears blue (in the film clip anyway). Maybe, like Mary’s uterus was the Sacred Vessel to carry The Son of God, Daryl’s diaphragm is a holy chalice for the Second Coming.

 

Think about it for a second. The Horses has the power to bring grown men to tears. It turns dance floors into one giant hug. It unites people. I guarantee you that blasting The Horses through speakers during a riot would by more effective in ending the madness than any amount of tear gas or water guns. The Horses is a spiritual force that cannot be denied.

 

The day I saw The Horses performed live changed my very genetic makeup. It was like a near death experience; a saw the light, and I saw a higher power. I believed.

 

Those opening bars were like nothing I had ever experienced before. I don’t know how to articulate how rapturous it was, but suffice to say that all the penises in the world could never achieve the euphoric heights I reached in those opening seconds. I was one with the universe. I was light. I was a sunset casting a thousand sparking reflections in the ocean. I transcended space and time and saw the colours of eternal love.

 

Behind me were rows and rows of indifferent middle-aged people sitting in their plastic chairs, keeping to their assigned seating. But I could not be contained. I cared not for their judgemental eyes and danced like a woman possessed. At one point I slipped past security guards and ran right up to the barrier to stare adoringly up at the figure emitting the sounds of ecstasy. His hair was greyed, his armskin was withered and his body sagged; but he was beautiful. As the stage lights formed a glowing aura outlining his aging shape, I knew I had seen true glory.

 

The rest of the song is a blur, with my memories mirroring that last scene in Grease when Danny and Sandy are in the clouds. Somehow I had reached the heavens. My feet were on the ground, but that man’s glorious voice took me there, way up in the sky.

 

I don’t know how to end this recount, nay, gospel. There are no words to convey the emotions that tsunamied over me, no definitions that can accurately describe how I felt. And so I leave you with this, a photo my snap happy co-worker captured in the aftermath of the great rhapsody. Amen.